A Conveniently Placed Headstone
by UmbriFiica
Summary: She falls from the sky and finds herself, not on soft cemetery ground, but on a fallen stone from a cursed grave. Her luck has never been better. T for Character Death, Mentions of Rape and Child Death, and General Unhappiness. Not graphic, but better safe than sorry.


She doesn't miss her sisters. Doesn't even spare them a second thought when she realizes that she is the only one that made it through sunrise. They were her cures, the bane of her existence, and her wicked laughter is full of glee at the thought of never having to deal with their stupidity again. The ringing tones of her mirth carry through the cemetery as she clambers over the boy's dead body to reach her broom, his life inside her giving her bones a strength she can't remember ever having. The two girls are so paralyzed with fear and grief that they don't realize she's coming until she is nearly upon them. The only thing that saves the little brat is that mangy feline flying towards her face, nearly throwing her off of her broom once more. Fury fills her for a moment, but the sight of the sun rising above the trees calms her. She doesn't need to rush her revenge. After all, she has all the time in the world.

She doesn't miss her sisters. Hardly even remembers she had them while she works her way through the children of Salem, gorging herself on their life force. The dancing fools are dead and the only real resistance to her control of the city are those girls and Thackeray Binx, the ever present thorn in her side. They do not concern her – there are two children to take the place of every one they manage to whisk away – but she has never forgotten what the child called her. Ugly. She is _not_ ugly. There is no one more beautiful, not with Sarah gone. No one will ever pass her by again and she will make the little brat rue the day she learned that horrid word. They will all pay for daring to defy her.

She doesn't miss her sisters. Not even in the dead of night when her memories of them resurface, memories of what it really meant to be a Sanderson sister. There's a new face in her bed now, a warm body that gives and takes as much and as often as she wants it to. She smirks as she contemplates her newest toy. Dani has grown into a lovely young woman, made even more so by the collars that have scratched her throat and wrists raw. Wonderful despair has etched itself into the girl's features, lending a beauty that joy could never bring. Those nights that bring warm memories are made warm themselves as she runs her sharp nails up Dani's thighs or caresses the soft curve of her breasts. The child – for everyone is a child to one who has lived so long – cannot fight the spell that makes her endure, return, and even enjoy the pain and pleasure that the darkest of nights bring. No, she wouldn't wish them back even if she could, for she will not share her greatest triumph with anyone but the Devil himself.

She doesn't miss her sisters. She curses them each day but she doesn't miss them. Their uses, yes, but never them. The only thing more infuriating than not having Mary's nose to find children or Sarah's voice to bring them to her is Thackeray Binx's brittle laughter when he hears her shrieking their names. He is the last of her old enemies, immortal as she and ever elusive. She can always be sure of him staying near to her though, the only two left that remember where the other has been. The rest are all dead and dust and she recalls with a smidgeon of pride that they could not defeat her. She killed them, not they her. Most days, however, she spends cursing the memory of her sisters, willing to suffer even Sarah's inane chatter and Mary's wretched mothering if it meant gathering children easier. They have learned to hide from the lady with the stone foot, a cursed memento of the night they were brought back to life, an effect of the hallowed ground she stepped on for just a moment, one she cannot shake. Not even her precious book can turn it back to flesh, and it will not be hidden. They all know to run from her and it gets harder to trick and trap them to her side. She has had to move on from Salem, now a wasteland bereft of children, and she feels her power waning the further she moves from her territory. There are others in the world like her and they do not suffer trespassers lightly. If she were not alone, she could defeat them without a second thought and she curses the traitors who are not by her side.

She doesn't miss her sisters. After all, she'll be joining them soon. Her strength is returning the nearer she gets to Salem, but it will not be enough to fight all those who follow. Her lip curls in disgust. Good witches indeed. What a disgrace. Nor does she have any respect for those of her ilk that have joined with them. That they should want to stay hidden when they could be mistresses of the world is beyond her. But it does not matter what she thinks of them, nor what they plan to do with her. She finds that she is tired and she wants to die at home. Of course, she has no plans to die alone. Her spiteful streak is a mile wide and she will make as many of them pay as she can, even after she is gone. Those who stand against her do not deserve to live, and those who think she is too old and weak to fight back will learn their mistake. She is a Sanderson and Sandersons never go down quietly. Her bones are tired though, and she knows the end is nigh whether she wills it or not. Her comfort is the misery she has caused, her joy is the lives she has ruined. Not even Thackeray Binx will be able to ever truly say he defeated her, for he will be alive and alone long after she is gone. She meant it when she said forever. The only regret that whispers in the back of her mind is that her sisters weren't here to enjoy it with her, but she has never missed them. And when she gets to Hell, she'll make sure they know that.


End file.
